The Shadow War
by SkyleafAlchemist19
Summary: As Iãgaw slowly and maliciously destroys Arda, Legolas and the Fellowship head to Rhun in a desperate search for the only things that can slay the demon: the Black Weapons. Back in Middle-Earth, Thranduil and his allies struggle to hold the Darkness back, a war unlike any other rising up to drown the world in chaos. All the while dangerous new enemies hunt them from the shadows...
1. To Form a Fellowship

**Disclaimer****: I do not own Lord of the Rings.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**The Shadow War**

**by: SkyleafAlchemist19**

**Special Note:**** This is the sequel to ****All That Remains****. If you have not read ****ATR****, you will be extremely confused if you try to read this. Go read ****All That Remains**** first!**

**Rated****: T for violence and some curse words.**

**Summary****: As Iãgaw slowly and maliciously destroys Arda, Legolas and the Fellowship head to Rhun in a desperate search for the only things that can slay the demon: the Black Weapons. Back in Middle-Earth, Thranduil and his allies struggle to hold the Darkness back, a war unlike any other rising up to drown the world in chaos. All the while dangerous new enemies hunt them from the shadows... AU. Assassin!Legolas.**

**Time-line****: The year 3011 of the Third Age. Alternate Universe.**

**Main/Prominent Characters****: Legolas (Esgal), Thranduil, Aragorn, Boromir, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, Gimli, Frodo, Pippin, Merry, Sam, Kili, Fili, Eomer, Gandalf, Radagast, Thorin, Galadriel, Celeborn, Erestor, Bilbo, Faramir, Haldir, Eowyn, Legolas's siblings (OCs), and many, many others.**

**Warnings****: AU, violence, language, Dark stuff, Iãgaw being Iãgaw (As in Iãgaw is being creepy and scary.).**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

"_When Darkness rules and hope is lost, the Wielders Three will rise._

_One of the mountains, one of the Kings, and one of the star-filled skies._

_On mountain's peak, in secrecy, the Black Weapons they'll find._

_In the place where the Darkness rules, and Blue is not kind._

_With blades of Black the Three must strike the heart of Arda's end._

_But beware, for They are Dark, and slay both foes and friends._

_For Light to win, and Dark to fall, there must be a price._

_In the end, blood will spill, in noble sacrifice._

_The Void will strike, the Sanctuary fall, as He slays a preserver of life_

_But He will fail, the Light prevail, with a twist of the hidden knife."_

**Chapter One: To Form a Fellowship**

Legolas, known as Esgal the Assassin to many and the Lost Prince to a select few, stared intently out into the forest, as still and silent as stone. Violet eyes scanned the trees in front of him for danger, only slightly reassured that there was none by the soft voices of the Light and shadowed trees as they whispered in the back of his mind. His twin daggers were in their sheaths at his shoulders, his bow right beside them, and the assassin felt the light pressure of his throwing knives within his sleeves, but neither the familiarity of his weapons nor the peace of the forest was able to calm him, each muscle tense and ready to react if he suddenly was attacked.

It was almost ironic. Here, in the Sanctuary that Mirkwood had become, the violet-eyed elf should feel the safest, and be able to lower his guard. He should not feel the need to be ready to fight, nor watching for danger like a wolf searching for prey. Yet danger always appeared when one least expected it, and in the past month since he had revealed himself to Hannel that phrase could not be more true.

The elf standing below him seemed to disagree with that statement at the moment, however.

"Legolas, you should relax." Aglar, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, told his brother calmly, surveying the assassin with concerned blue eyes. "Nothing is going to happen."

The pale-blonde-haired elf glanced down at his silver-haired kin before looking back up and continuing his careful vigil. "I know you are most likely right. But I cannot shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen."

"Do not tell me you have gained the ability to predict the future!" his eldest brother gasped jokingly.

Legolas gave Aglar a half-hearted shrug. "Of course not. I am just... _concerned_ about this meeting. So many leaders and important people will all be in one place..."

"...In the Sanctuary, where Darkness cannot reach us." Aglar said persuasively. "Even so, we will not be milling around the courtyard waiting to be shot if someone _does_ attack. Adar has posted guards around the meeting hall in two rings, with three warriors in each group. That way, if a few do turn out to be Fallen..." He trailed off, grimacing.

His youngest brother looked equally unhappy. He leapt down from the tree, landing lightly and speaking softly to the Crown Prince. "It has been two months since Iãgaw awoke, and only two weeks since the first Fallen Elves were discovered. In those two weeks, _thirty-eight_ more Fallen Elves have been detained. And their discovery and captures were only _after_ they started attacking their comrades. I know that the Fallen Elves are insane, disorganized, and like mindless animals at times, but I cannot help but worry that a group of them may attack the Council meeting. There is going to be a diversity of races and people there, and you know as well as I do that the Fallen tend to react negatively to people who are not like them..."

"Which is why we have the guards set up, and why Adar and the others have passed on information about the Fallen Elves to the dignitaries from the other realms." Aglar reminded the assassin. "I for one expect this meeting to run smoothly— as smoothly as it possibly can, anyway— but we are all prepared. Nothing bad will happen."

Legolas shifted his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. "I admire your optimism, but I will believe that when the meeting is over. Do not expect me to 'relax' any time soon."

"Fair enough." the Crown Prince agreed readily. His amiable expression faded into something more serious. "You will be right next to Adar, correct?"

_So you are not as confident and unconcerned as you are pretending to be. You are worried as well,_ Legolas thought. "Of course. I would like to see someone try to make me stand somewhere else."

The assassin deeply hoped that arguing, irritable people would be the only excitement in the upcoming meeting. Representatives from the different Realms of Elves, Men, Hobbits, and Dwarves had all arrived in the Sanctuary for the upcoming Council, to discuss and hopefully come together in order to retrieve the only things in this world that could kill Iãgaw, the Void. The whole event was more than enough to make the violet-eyed elf nervous, and not just because of the number of influential and important people involved.

Legolas had been trained to get past guards and other safety precautions, and he could see every hole and potential weak spot in the warriors' defensive circles. It was true that none of the Fallen Elves that may attack were assassins— skilled at getting past protection in order to reach their target— but if they _really_ wanted to kill the leaders and representatives that had gathered in the open courtyard...

_The more people you have in a room, the more likely it is there will be trouble. And it is also more likely that an attack will result in chaos and confusion, not readiness. _The assassin kept a grimace off his face._ This could end badly._

He prayed that would not be the case.

Thranduil and most of the representatives were already in their places, the races from each realm sitting together in a wide circle around the open courtyard. The rooms normally used for meetings like this were too small for the occasion, so chairs and seats had been set out beneath the sky. Legolas took his place just behind his father, drawing a few curious glances from the ones he had never met. Those who did know of Esgal accepted that the assassin would stand beside the Elvenking, who the young elf had become quite protective of for reasons unknown by most.

The violet-eyed elf scanned his surroundings once more, eyes drifting over the diversity of races in front of him. Thranduil, Legolas's siblings, Elrond, his three children, Glorfindel, Erestor, Galadriel, Celeborn, and the Councilors were representing the elves. Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Gloin, and Gimli had come from Erebor for the dwarves.

Aragorn and Boromir sat in for Gondor— the former residing beside Arwen— while Eomer, Theodred, and a few more Rohirrim came from Rohan. The men— who had had the furthest to travel— had arrived surprisingly quickly, though for Boromir it was rumored that a young Eagle had taken part in his early arrival. Then there were the hobbits, Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, and Sam along with a couple others Legolas did not know by name. Finally there was Gandalf and Radagast.

Aglar took his seat, the last to do so, and the murmuring conversations going on around the circle ceased. All eyes turned to Thranduil, including Legolas's. His father sat tall and proud, eying those that had gathered in his kingdom with a calm grimness. Instead of looking upon the different races with coldness or contempt like he might once have, Thranduil portrayed a feeling of welcome mixed with urgency. Without preamble he began, strong voice easily heard by all.

"I thank you all for heeding my summons. As you are all aware, a great Darkness has come to our world. Iãgaw, the Void, is the physical incarnation of Darkness and evil. He is a nearly immortal demon whose goal is to conquer and slowly destroy Middle-earth before proceeding to the West and killing the Valar and obliterating all of Arda. No realm is safe from this fate if he succeeds."

The dignitaries were surprisingly without comment, all exchanging glances with their fellows that revealed each's deepest fears. Thranduil did not let them linger on their dark thoughts for too long.

"Iãgaw can be stopped, however. Through Lorien himself, Erestor has gained knowledge on how to defeat the demon. Long ago, three Black Weapons were created in the fires of Mount Doom. These Weapons— the Black Sword; Mornestel, the Black Axe; Dūrcuil, and the Black Bow and Arrows; Daesīdh— are the only things that can kill Iãgaw. Any other weapons, mundane, elven, or magical, have no affect on the Void. There are obstacles to using these Weapons as well. Only the Weapons' chosen Wielders can use them to slay Iãgaw. Any others who attempt to use them will perish."

A few people had been leaning forward, eyes bright and slightly gleaming at the thought of being the ones to kill the demon, but their expressions quickly crumbled into ones of alarm as the potential death sentence was uttered.

"Where are these weapons?" Boromir of Gondor asked, leaning forward in his seat with his hands gripping the chair arms tightly.

Legolas noted that the man's aura was slightly unsteady, emotions fluctuating unnoticed by most beneath his calm facade. The assassin scanned his face once, noticing his pale skin and tired eyes. He recalled that the man had been in Rivendell when it fell, and wondered if seeing the elven realm burn had affected him more than he let on...

"The Weapons are in Rhun." the Elvenking informed Boromir. "In a temple that is hidden in the mountains."

"In the Dark Lands?" Thorin questioned, brow furrowing. "Surely it would have been wiser to hide the Weapons here, in the Sanctuary?"

"Iagaw has no interest in the Dark Lands at the current moment." Radagast spoke up. His hair was slightly less wild and dirty than usual, and Legolas realized the Wizard had actually cleaned himself up a little bit. His robes were as messy as ever though. "In fact, I doubt he will ever go there. The realm is covered in Darkness and some of the Easterlings actually worship the likes of Morgoth and Sauron. Iãgaw has no interest in being worshiped, only in being feared. He desires opposition because he wants to crush it."

"We'll oppose him all right." Gimli growled, fingering his axe. He looked to Thranduil. "What do we need to do, Elvenking?"

More than one dignitary looked disapproving at the dwarf's blunt question, but the dwarves, Legolas, and thankfully Thranduil were all not bothered by the lack of tactful address. Out of those that did not know Gimli well, only the hobbits seemed to not care about protocol. Legolas spotted Frodo speaking softly to Bilbo, the elder hobbit looking increasingly drained with each murmured word.

"A small group of warriors need to go to Rhun, retrieve the Weapons, and bring them back so we may find the other two Wielders." the golden-haired elf responded to the dwarf firmly. "This must be done as quickly as possible. Iãgaw has been quiet for a while, but I fear he will not leave the world in relative peace for much longer. Eventually he will stop sending orcs to burn cities and will go himself. And if we do not have the Weapons to stop him, _no one_ will stand a chance."

Thranduil looked at each of them, blues eyes dark and grave. "None can escape from this war, and it is only right that we work together to ensure that our world survives. That is why you all are here. Since we are all bound by this one dark fate, this one doom, we must unite our races to save Middle-Earth. Erestor, Aragorn, Gandalf, Elrohir, Elladan, and Esgal have already agreed to go on this quest."

The named members stood or stepped forward as one, letting those who did not know them put a name to their faces. Some showed open approval, others suspicion, but none voiced their opinions to the group.

"You can add me to that list." Gimli proclaimed without hesitation, rising to his feet. "The mountains may be different, but it would be good for you to have a warrior that knows the secrets of caves when we find this temple."

The dwarf walked confidently up to the Company and stood proudly beside Legolas. The assassin shot his friend a quick smile that the dwarf returned with ease.

"Might as well make that two 'cave-warriors'." Kili broke in cheerfully, eyes alight with an odd mix of mischief and seriousness.

He stepped beside Gimli and grinned. The auburn-haired dwarf sighed and looked skyward, muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath in his native tongue. Legolas held back a chuckle and Kili jabbed Gimli with his elbow, pouting.

"Three." Fili said instantly, moving beside his brother and placing a hand on his shoulder.

In his seat, Glorfindel looked at the dwarf brothers, then at the elven twins, and rose an eyebrow at Erestor. The scholar's eyebrow gave a small twitch but he said nothing. Meanwhile, Thorin's lips were mashed in a thin line and Legolas could see he was barely holding back protests.

"Fili." Gandalf intoned gently. "You are the Crown Prince, Thorin's Heir. It would do your people and uncle no good if you were killed on this Quest."

"If Kili goes, I go." Fili stated, a hint of dwarfish stubbornness shining through. "Besides, Iãgaw wants to kill _everything_. I would rather die trying to find the way to stop him than sit twiddling my thumbs waiting for him to invade Erebor."

"If orcs and Shadowed Elves come to Erebor, my people can fight them without their Princes." Thorin broke in, any reluctance he might be feeling hidden behind a stoic mask. "And if Iãgaw himself does come, we will spend our efforts getting to the Sanctuary."

A few nodded, but Legolas noted that Theodred looked unconvinced. "Is Iãgaw truly so unstoppable that you would flee rather than try to fight for your home?"

The King Under the Mountain looked the Prince of Rohan straight in the eyes. "Yes. If Thranduil and Gandalf are so insistent that Iãgaw cannot be stopped, I _fully_ believe them. I would rather save my people than have them die needlessly against a foe they cannot beat."

Theodred schooled his expression but Legolas knew his views had not changed. The Prince of Rohan flinched slightly when Eomer rose to his feet.

"I, Eomer of Rohan, also will go with you to represent both my realm and the Race of Men."

The words caused a short but intense silent battle between the two Rohirrim. Theodred looked stunned and angry, while Eomer was firm and stubborn. Legolas did not know what had caused the horseman to believe in their goal so greatly that he would go against his cousin and Prince, but he would be glad to have the strong, noble man at his side. Nothing was said, but Eomer's head tipped and Theodred sighed, nodding once.

"Eomer has my permission." the Prince of Rohan said with great reluctance, a visible grimace marring his features.

"I shall go as well."

It was not another one of the dwarves or men that spoke, but a soft, gentle voice from among the hobbits. Frodo, one hand upon Bilbo's arm, the other limp at his side, stood to his full short height, wide blue eyes surveying the diversity of races that stared at him. He shifted slightly, eyes focusing on Legolas, and the elf gave the hobbit an encouraging smile.

Frodo took a breath. "It was Bilbo that lost the Ring to the Witch-King. Because of that, the Void was released. As his kin, with him unable to go on this journey himself, I must go in his place to... to try to make things right."

None spoke as he walked over to the group, standing beside Legolas. The assassin leaned over and spoke softly in Frodo's ear. "No one blames you or Bilbo for anything." he murmured. When the hobbit said nothing, the young elf patted him once on the shoulder before letting his hand fall away.

"We're coming too!" Pippin exclaimed, jumping up with Sam and Merry following.

The hobbits got more than one odd glance or chuckle from many of the seated dignitaries, but the elves and Radagast merely blinked or smiled knowingly. The three other hobbits, though not as skilled in the ways of the warrior as the others in the company, would be much-needed additions on their mission.

Finally, Boromir exited his seat, slinging his shield over his shoulder as he strode to join the mixed company. "I will represent Gondor. I do not know how this will come to a close, but I will fight for this company and mission until the end."

The remainder of the Council observed the four elves, three men, three dwarves, four hobbits, and one Wizard who would hold the fate of their world in their hands. Old and young, experienced and naive, it would be up to all of them to succeed and bring back the Weapons that would vanquish the Void. It was quite a heavy burden to bear, Legolas mused, for the assassin even more so. Him and two other Wielders...

"Two." Fili said suddenly, eyes resting on Thranduil. "You said we would need to find two Wielders, but there are _three_ Weapons."

"Indeed. We already know the identity of a Wielder..." Erestor cut in before the Elvenking could speak.

He trailed off, glancing at Legolas as if asking for permission. Holding back a grimace, the violet-eyed elf gave it with a nod. The others needed to know.

"...Daesīdh's Wielder— an elf as was predetermined— is Esgal."

The results were instantaneous. Dozens of gazes bore into the assassin, judging his worth and either approving or not believing as they surveyed one of their potential saviors. He cringed internally under the startled stares but the assassin kept his head high and his expression blank. Gimli gave a small chuckle that seemed out of place in the tension, and jabbed the young elf in the side lightly.

"You always have to be center of attention, don't you Esgal? Now you're one of three who can save the world." His tone was teasing but held a hint of something else as he gave the gawping observers a pointed look. They quickly avoided the dwarf's warning glare, looking sideways, at each other, or even up at the sky for some reason.

Legolas managed to smile. "Of course. Being a normal elven warrior in this war would be boring."

In reality, he would much rather be one of the _non_-Wielders. It was already worrying enough to know that he was a Royal, but now he was a supposed chosen one of some sort as well. The assassin found himself pushing back a wave of bitterness at the thought. He had denied the fate that the Witch-King had decided for him back in Dol Guldur, and had spent many years after fighting against what others wanted for him and for what he believed in… but did his choices truly matter?

He was the destined Wielder of Daesīdh, a duty which had been placed upon him before he was even born. The notion that his part in the upcoming battle was predetermined made his stomach twist and his fists clench in anger. Every fiber of his being raged against having to follow the path someone else decided for him. If not for the fact that denying his place as a Wielder would result in Middle-Earth falling to Darkness, he would fight against his so-called "destiny" with everything he had.

"This must be kept secret." Thranduil's tone allowed no room for debate. "If word of the Weapons or Esgal's status were to reach Iãgaw or his followers, the company would have all the evil in Arda hunting them. As far as we are aware, the Void does not think anything can kill him. We must ensure that he keeps that belief."

"Agreed." Thorin stated, Elrond, Radagast, and the others quickly conceding as well.

Gandalf stepped to the room's center, staff tapping the ground once. "The company should be ready to leave at dawn tomorrow. Time is of the essence, and we should begin our mission as soon as possible." He glanced at the sky, frowning once, then looked back to those around him. "As Thranduil said, we are all bound to a terrible fate if Iãgaw wins. Our company— a Fellowship of all our races— must put all allegiances to realm and leader aside and fight only for this quest. Once we begin, we cannot return until we succeed or perish. There is no middle ground in the upcoming war."

"I will lay down my life if need be." Aragorn stated. "As will we all."

His eyes flicked to Legolas and away, meeting Gandalf's before moving to his brothers and Erestor. The assassin did not need Galadriel's telepathy to know what was going through each of their minds. He kept his expressionless mask firmly up, barely able to keep his protest from being voiced. The Ranger had lied; not all should lay down their life for the mission.

The violet-eyed elf was the Wielder of the Black Bow, the only one who could use Daesīdh to kill Iãgaw one of three times. Not only that, but he was a Royal as well, one of the people whose death would cause the Sanctuary's magic to fail. If he died, hope would be truly lost. So it would be the Fellowship's secondary mission to make sure Legolas survived. Even if it meant sacrificing themselves for him.

…"_NO!" Ciaran shouted, twisting Legolas around and shielding the elf's body with his own. The assassin felt his mentor jerk as the arrow struck him, a gasp of pain ripping free of the man's lips. Ciaran slumped, weight falling heavily on the elf, who held the man firmly to keep him from collapsing to the ground..._

Legolas's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms. _No one will die for me again. I will not let it come to that._

"If there is nothing left to discuss, this meeting is adjourned." Thranduil said heavily, blue eyes staying on his son's face. "Members of the Company, prepare yourselves for your journey. You will leave at dawn."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The forest had eyes.

Thousands of them watched Carrick, man of Gondor, as he stumbled determinedly through the shadowy trees around him. It seemed like all the animals had already fled from this place, a heavy, eerie silence hanging over this section of the forest. Carrick's frantic heartbeats were the only thing he could hear, yet the soft, rhythmic pounding in his chest was too loud, _far_ too loud.

Why could his heart not be quiet? It _needed_ to be calm and silent. Carrick was not a warrior, not a fighter, just a small town's shoe maker, but he knew that silence and stealth had to be his allies now if he ever wanted to evade his pursuer. _He_ was stronger than him, faster than him, and was most likely tracking the man through these very woods.

Not that following the shoe maker would be difficult. The blood dripping from a cut on his arm was leaving a trail easy enough for a newborn chick to follow, but Carrick could do little to cover his tracks. He had no time or supplies to care for the wound, and there was none around to assist him. All he could do was run, and keep running, until he hopefully reached safety. But was there any place he could call safe?

A twig snapped beneath Carrick's foot and he flinched, his foolish heart beating even louder than before. Could the hunter hear? Was he close enough? The man looked around at the dark, foreboding trees uncertainly, and was relieved when nothing leapt from the shadows to slaughter him. He was still safe. No, not safe. He was still alive. Alive alive, not dead yet. _Alive_. For now.

He continued on, ignoring his aching feet, squinting up at the barely-visible sun as he tried to gauge whether he was going in the right direction. Shockingly he was, which gave some relief to the exhausted, terrified man. Carrick had been traveling for more than a week, barely taking any stops as he haltingly made his way to Minas Tirith. Surely if any place was safe from the _demon_ that had attacked his home, it would be there?

Carrick shuddered, trying to push any thoughts of the demon out of his head. Instead, as if his mind itself were being invaded by _him_, memories of the monster forced themselves to the forefront of his consciousness. Beautiful, terrible, and stronger than anything Carrick had ever seen, the demon had appeared in his village out of nowhere. Before the villagers could do more than stare at the intruder, before the shoemaker could even gasp in surprise, all around him had _collapsed_ like abandoned puppets, blank, unseeing eyes revealing their bitter fates.

Something invisible had swept through the little town like an inferno through dry grass, killing all in sight. But unlike fire this plague, this Dark power, had left no marks. The only proof that death had come were the lifeless bodies of women, children, and men, and single, beautiful, horrifying monster that had come and somehow slaughtered them all.

Carrick did not know how or why he survived whatever the demon had done that had killed his fellow villagers, and he had not stayed around to test his luck. He ran from the demon— who did not seem to spot him— his only injury coming from gouging his arm on the edge of a wooden cart as he fled. The wound stung, and was most likely infected, with tiny splinters stuck in the broken skin, but Carrick did not care. All he knew was that he needed to keep running, keep fleeing, in a desperate attempt to stay ahead of the demon that may or may not be chasing him.

He just wanted to escape. He just wanted to be safe. He just wanted to _live_.

The shoe maker walked three more steps, faltering as he came upon a sharp downward slope. With a startled cry he descended, tumbling head over heels down to the bottom, where he was abruptly halted by a boulder twice the size of him. Carrick lay there for a long moment, winded and stunned, and tried to gather the strength to rise and continue on. His fall, however, seemed to have drained him of any remaining energy he had possessed. He was a turtle flipped onto its back, only able to helplessly wiggle as he attempted to right himself. Wheezing, the man lay there, shutting his tired eyes in an attempt to summon up the necessary energy to move.

"Well, that was entertaining."

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere, purring and smooth and beautiful and _dark_. Carrick froze, eyes snapping open before they widened in terror. Before him was the _demon_, the monster, the Dark creature that haunted his every thought since he first laid eyes on him. Black hair fell like a curtain made of Darkness down the black-clothed back, sucking in all light around it like an abyss swallowed a torch. Pointed ears peeked out from between the dark strands, and glowing, hypnotic crimson eyes peered gleefully down at Carrick, only made brighter in contrast to his shadow-colored sclera and skin.

Carrick had always been told that Dark creatures like orcs and Nazgûl were only threats at night, or when clouds covered the sun. Monsters were not supposed to be able to come out during the day time. They were supposed to only be able to mingle with shadows and darkness. But this demon stood proudly and apathetically in the bright sunlight, standing idly beneath the brilliant blue sky without a care for the rays that should have been burning his skin. It should not be possible. How could the Valar let such a monster walk in the Light?

Carrick found himself unable to move, paralyzed as the Darkness the demon exuded pressed down on him. He could not even find the ability to scream, only able to stare at the demon in open fear. The dark, elf-like features twisted into a mockery of a friendly expression. Carrick never knew that what could be considered a kind smile could ever be so frightening.

"It has been quite amusing to watch you stumble and run like the little mouse you are for this past week," the demon said in a pleasant voice, speaking to the man like he was an old friend he had run into at the market. "Men are so unobservant. You never even noticed me..."

Around him, the trees blackened and died.

Carrick watched with horrified fascination as the moss on the rock beside him turned from bright green to grey before crumbling into dust. He cowered, expecting to follow the plants into death's embrace, only to remain firmly in his body, again unaffected by whatever power the crimson-eyed creature had. Before Carrick could sort any thoughts in his head, the demon chuckled and spoke.

"Do not think you are special, little mortal. You are only alive because I wanted to test myself. I have been practicing, you see." the demon explained patiently. "It is harder then you think, draining away the life of everything around someone while letting only them live. If I can resist _devouring_ you—" Carrick swore those mesmerizing red eyes glowed a little brighter. "—an insignificant little man, then I most definitely will have the restraint to avoid killing the Valar while I _**destroy... everything... around them...**_"

His voice deepened, echoing and harsh, and something in Carrick seemed to rip in half. He screamed in pain, cringing as _something_ tried to separate itself from his body, pulled in by the enticingly Dark aura surrounding the demon. It was as if an orc was tearing out his heart, its claws digging into his flesh as it attempted to separate the organ from his body. Carrick wished that was what was happening to him. At least if his heart was being torn out the pain would end. This pain did not.

The crimson-eyed creature eyed him for a moment, watching Carrick writhe and shriek in the dirt with a small smile on his face as the man clawed at the ground, eyes rolling back into his head. Then the demon sighed, scoffing lightly. There was no visible movement or change but the pulling feeling receded, leaving Carrick gasping and quivering, perspiration running down his face. The demon tipped his head, tapping his chin idly with a long finger as he studied the shoe maker.

"My little test is over now..." the monster informed him idly. "I don't need you any more. And now you do not have enough energy left to even be considered a snack for me." For the first time he frowned, looking genuinely disappointed as he ignored Carrick's whimpers. "Your kind always did have such little Light in you, it is no surprise almost all of yours is gone. What to do, what to do..."

He stared blankly into space, thinking deeply as he considered the man's fate, but before Carrick could even consider trying to crawl away red eyes focused on him once more, lighting up like a child who had just received sweets. "I have an idea! You have lasted a week of harsh travel with an injury, an exceptional feat for a man, I must admit... and I cannot help but wonder how long you will last with more... _extensive_ wounds. I have always wondered what the _inside_ of a man looks like..."

The shadows beneath the trees rippled, peeling away from the earth like monsters rising from the abyss, and Carrick screamed. But in the dead, shadowy graveyard, not even the trees were around to hear him.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations****:**

**Ada/Adar: Dad/Daddy/Father**

**Mornestel: Black Hope, the Black Sword**

**Dūrcuil: Dark Life, the Black Axe**

**Daesīdh: Shadow Peace, the Black Bow and Arrows**

**The Mirkwood Royal Family****:**

**Thranduil: Elvenking of Mirkwood, golden hair, blue eyes**

**Luineth: Queen, silver hair, silver-blue eyes, deceased**

**Aglar: oldest Prince, silver hair, blue eyes**

**Hannel: oldest Princess, golden hair, blue eyes**

**Megilag: second Prince, silver-gold hair, green-tinged hazel eyes**

**Barhad: third Prince, twin, golden hair, brown eyes**

**Bereneth: second Princess, twin, golden hair, brown eyes**

**Fael: fourth Prince, silver hair, green eyes**

**Legolas: youngest Royal and the Lost Prince, pale blonde hair, violet eyes (originally silver-blue), also known as Esgal**

**The Fellowship:**

**Elves: Legolas, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir**

**Dwarves: Gimli, Fili, Kili**

**Men: Aragorn, Boromir, Eomer**

**Hobbits: Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin**

**Wizard: Gandalf**

**A/N: And that's the first chapter of the sequel! :D I hope you enjoyed it! I tried to keep the exposition to a minimum because I think I did a good job explaining stuff last book. And yeah, its still an all-guy Fellowship, but I promise that girl power will be elsewhere. :)**

**A lot of people do not seem to realize how much being the "Chosen One" of some type of prophecy sucks. If you are destined to fight some evil, you **_**will**_** fight that evil. Why? Because you are destined to. It brings up a lot of questions about free will and whether choices really matter. The reason I'm bringing this up is because I was in the Naruto fandom lately, and noticed that Naruto— a character who denies that destiny and fate exist— ends up accepting that he is the "Chosen One". There isn't really an explanation as to why he suddenly accepts his role. That being said, I added a little section in here kinda explaining why Legolas— a character who revels in his ability to choose what he wants to do and loves his freedom— isn't fighting tooth-and-nail against the destiny someone is trying to force on him. The only reason Legolas is so "accepting" of his "prophesized destiny" is that to deny it would make the Light lose everything. If he and the other Wielders do not kill Iagaw, Arda and everyone in it will die.**

**First chapter in and already I have a long author's note. Go me. :P It may be a few weeks before I can update. I'm still busy. (Projects and essays suck. :( )  
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**Please review!**


	2. The Touch of Death

**A/N: ****WARNING:**** Creepy and Dark stuff, allusions to torture, Iãgaw being Iãgaw. Character death. Not a main character but many of you will be shocked. O_O**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Two: The Touch of Death**

The room was entirely too somber for Legolas's liking. Violet eyes drifted from his father to each of his siblings, who sat quietly around the Queen's Garden as if they were unsure of what to do with themselves. Aglar was staring blankly into the distance, Barhad was sitting at the base of the tree with his head in his hands, and Hannel was perched on the edge of a chair next to the center-most tree. Though dawn was not far away, the sky was still dark, the only light coming from a few torches placed strategically around the edge of the garden.

Normally the Royal Family of Mirkwood gathered in the garden to relax and spend time together away from prying eyes, but as night turned to day there was no more laughter and meaningless conversations. Instead troubling fear swept through the King and his older children, fear that they all were trying so hard to hide from Legolas. If not for his awareness of the energies around him, they may have succeeded. But the assassin could sense his family's growing worry.

"I do not want you to go." Hannel confessed suddenly, face pale and strained. When all eyes turned to her she continued in a rush, her silent fear breaking free of its constraints. "Legolas, you only truly returned to us a few weeks ago. And now... now you are leaving again." Her hands fluttered uselessly as if she was trying not to grab something, and her bright blue eyes were distant. She hesitated, a pleading, pained note entering her beautiful voice. "Are you certain that you must go?"

Legolas walked over to his sister and hugged her, wincing internally as she shook in his arms. "I have to." he murmured, violet eyes scanning the sad faces of his other family members. "I will be fine, Hannel. I _will_ come back."

For that was what she feared the most, losing her little brother to the Darkness again. His death would be catastrophic in more ways than one, but Legolas being captured by the Shadow once more could just as easily push his family past the breaking point.

"We know." Thranduil murmured, encasing his eldest daughter and youngest son in the warm safety of his arms. "We know you will not be lost to us again, Little Leaf. You will return. And when you do, we will be here. All of us."

Legolas knew that nothing was certain, as did the rest of his siblings, but it was comforting to hear his father say it all the same. For as much as his family feared for his safety on the quest, the assassin feared for their safety more. They would not be sitting idly in the Sanctuary while he ran off to fight the Darkness. If the need arose— and it _would_— his family would be off to assist their allies should the enemy attack them. Plus Megilag, Fael, and Bereneth were out Valar knows where, searching for their brother where he would not be found.

Shortly after Boromir's arrival, Gandalf had sent the young Eagle who had brought the man of Gondor to Mirkwood out to find the three Royals and bring them back. Iãgaw's shadows could not reach the sky, so the Eagle would not be discovered and tracked by the demon. No word had come from him since then, though Legolas was relieved at least steps had been taken to try to retrieve his siblings.

The assassin did not know how the Eagle, Thiad, would convince them to return if he found them, but now he could hope for their safe recovery. Still, the violet-eyed elf could not help but wonder why the other Eagles had not come to Mirkwood for the Council. And why they could not give the Fellowship a lift to the temple in Rhun.

Aglar and Barhad joined their little huddle, and Legolas felt both joyful and saddened as his family merely held each other, waiting for dawn to come as they spoke their private goodbyes. When the sun finally rose they all were dry-eyed, their secret fears hidden beneath practiced masks of calm indifference. With final hugs and murmured farewells, the Royals went their separate ways, leaving Legolas to pack his few belongings and think.

His weapons, some lembas that Cook had laid out for him, and other necessities were packed in a small traveling sack or on his person within minutes, and he turned to stare at the guest room that had officially become his not so long ago. A sudden unwillingness to leave swept over Legolas, followed swiftly by a desire to depart and travel the world once more.

He had been to Rhun before, and while it was not the desolate, fire-filled realm painted in many Middle-earth stories, it was not the most pleasant place to be either. He would miss the remaining green leaves of Mirkwood, the childlike shadowed trees, and— most importantly— the family he had just regained, but he was needed outside of the Sanctuary and the place of safety his old home had become.

"Esgal?"

The assassin turned to his door, smiling the slightest bit as Glorfindel entered his room. "Gwador. Have you come to say goodbye as well?"

The Balrog Slayer nodded. "Yes. And to walk my Tithen Gwador to the gates."

"At least _you_ get to say goodbye to me there." the young elf murmured softly, then sighed.

Glorfindel's eyebrow rose in a question, urging him to share his thoughts.

"...I know this is silly, but a part of me wishes I could be hugged by and bid farewell my family in public without people wondering why." Legolas confessed. "But I know that now is the worst time to hint that there is any familial relationship between me and them."

_Nor do I want anyone to know I'm a… Prince_. Even after weeks of knowing the truth, Legolas still cringed internally at the last word. Being Thranduil's son he could easily accept. Being a Prince? No.

"I do not think that is silly at all." Glorfindel said lightly. "But I'm afraid you'll just have me to see you off on your journey. Officially, anyway. I am just concerned that Hannel might run up to you with a wagon-full of lembas. And an extra cloak. And a map. All while asking questions to make sure you did not forget anything and to make sure you wash behind your ears..."

The mental image of Hannel doing just that came to the forefront of Legolas's mind and he chuckled. "She would do that if she could, wouldn't she? She does seem like the type..." The violet-eyed elf trailed off, thoughts drifting. "You will be here to help with the war once it starts, correct?"

The Vanya gave a nod of assent.

Legolas looked down and away from him, eying the end of the hall. "If you could... can you... can you keep them safe?" The assassin paused, momentarily embarrassed by how child-like the question sounded, but Glorfindel's understanding expression put his mind at ease.

"I will. And not just because they are Royals." the golden-haired elf promised. "I'll protect them as fiercely as the shadowed trees defend this realm. And with just as much viciousness as well."

The Balrog Slayer was no longer joking, each word spoken with a dark intensity that swept away any lingering worry in Legolas's mind.

"Thank you." he murmured, just as they reached the gate.

Everyone else was coming in as they did, the Fellowship gathered just inside the gate, at the edge of the bridge. Legolas was happy to note that the races were intermingling already. Aragorn was speaking with Gandalf and Erestor, the twins and dwarf Princes looked to be already plotting something, and the hobbits and Gimli were chatting with the other two men. Gimli spotted the assassin first and waved him over.

"Esgal!"

The violet-eyed elf turned to Glorfindel and opened his mouth, only to be caught in a fierce hug. The assassin hugged him back readily, keeping still as his sworn brother gave him a platonic kiss on the forehead.

"Be safe and come home, Esgal." Glorfindel murmured, and Legolas knew he was not just speaking the blessing for himself, but for the family who could not openly say farewell.

The Balrog Slayer let go, and the assassin joined Gimli and his little gathering of hobbits and men.

"Hello Esgal!" Pippin greeted with his usual energy.

The other hobbits shifted aside as if to give more room for them in their huddle, expressions open and welcoming, though Sam and Merry still looked to be slightly intimidated by the mysterious elven assassin. Gimli was pleased to see him, his smile mostly hidden by his beard. Eomer and Boromir were more guarded, and Legolas could sense the wariness and slight discomfort in their auras and stances. To his great surprise, it was Boromir who spoke to him next.

"I do not believe we have ever officially met. I am Boromir, son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor." he bowed slightly before extending his hand in greeting.

Not missing a beat, Legolas bowed back and clasped the offered forearm firmly. The man's armor was cool beneath his fingers. "Esgal of Mirkwood. It is an honor to meet you."

"Likewise. I have heard from Eomer about your triumph over the Witch-King. Thank you for slaying that menace. He was a plague on Gondor, sending forces to kill our people and burn our towns to the ground." There was an edge to Boromir's voice, but the assassin knew it was not directed at him.

Legolas could not quite keep the slightly feral, triumphant grin from flashing over his face. "Trust me, I was happy to separate his head from his shoulders."

He met the Captain of Gondor's eyes and a moment of understanding passed between them. Boromir released his arm, nodding once. "I know many men who would be happy to as well. Now only seven of the Nine are left."

"That's good, isn't it?" Merry joined the conversation, looking oddly solemn. "The less Ringwraiths there are, the less of those dragon-things we'll have to deal with."

Legolas grimaced, remembering the "dragon-things'" parts in the destruction of the Shire. Gimli also seemed to notice the hobbits' sudden sadness and changed the subject.

"I know that Frodo can fight, but what of the rest of you?" He asked gruffly. "Have you ever held a blade or gone on adventures?"

Merry and Pippin brightened instantly. "Oh, yes!" The youngest hobbit said eagerly. "Frodo, the elves, and Strider have been teaching us! Well, Merry and I mostly, but Sam has learned a little bit too."

The gardener's cheeks colored and he studied his hairy feet. "I know more than I did, but I'm not exactly the fighting type, you see. I'm more of a... cooking and helping type?" Uncertainty clouded his features.

Gimli gave a barking laugh, patting the hobbit on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward a step. "That's good, laddie! We're going to need 'cooking and helping types' once we get out in the wild. These flighty elves just gave us a bunch of _bread_ to take with us and we'll need a good cook on the road."

"A few bites of the bread the 'flighty elves' gave you can fill a man for days." the elf in their midst said pointedly, violet eyes twinkling. "Although you eat as much as ten oliphaunts, so I'm not certain how long _your_ rations will last..."

Gimli mock-glared at the assassin. "I'm sure yours will last the entire trip, elf. You're as thin as one of the twigs from those trees you love so much."

Legolas nodded sagely. "But that is the point, my dear rotund dwarf. How else are we elves supposed to hide in the branches?"

Sam unsuccessfully tried to hide a giggle behind his hand. When they all looked at him, the hobbit explained. "I'm sorry. sirs. I was just trying to imagine Mister Gimli hiding in trees."

The thought alone was enough to get chortles from multiple members of their little group. Eomer, however, remained silent, staring out into the forest with blank eyes. Legolas frowned, eyes flicking around the crowded entrance, before they softened in understanding. Theodred and the other emissaries from Rohan were nowhere to be seen.

_Did they already leave, refusing to see Eomer off? It was tense between him and his cousin yesterday, but surely they did not separate on bad terms?_ The assassin thought. Eomer's sad expression and troubled aura said otherwise. Legolas grimaced. _So perhaps it is not wariness that is keeping him so quiet. I just hope they will have the chance to reconcile later._

"Members of the Company!" Gandalf called, drawing their attention. "It is time to depart! Say your final farewells, and let us begin our journey!"

The Fellowship broke away from each other one more time, walking to loved ones to say their final goodbyes. Thorin dropped his stoic mask to hug Fili and Kili. Bilbo looked like he was going to crush Frodo with bear-like grasp. Elrond had his hands planted on Elrohir and Elladan's shoulders, looking piercingly into their eyes as if to memorize each detail of their identical faces. Arwen gently kissed Aragorn near the wall, where the two thought no one could see. Legolas met Glorfindel's eyes from where he stood next to Boromir and Eomer, nodding once. They had already said all they needed to.

Then the two men besides Legolas shifted, and the assassin looked up to see Thranduil before him. The Elvenking was regal and calm in every way. Except for his eyes. His blue eyes held every emotion imaginable, so chaotic and revealing of his feelings that Legolas could barely stand to look. Love, joy, sorrow, grief, fear, pride, and raw determination could all be seen in his father's gaze as he looked at the assassin that was his youngest child.

"Be safe. Be strong. You will return to us victorious." Thranduil stated, but Legolas knew every hidden meaning behind those words of farewell. _I love you_. _I'm so proud of you_. _I cannot lose you_. _We __**will**__ see each other again._

"Of course." Legolas murmured, feeling as if he were uttering a promise.

Thranduil smiled, a gentle, emotional smile that mirrored his turbulent eyes. But in an instant it was gone, and he again became the Elvenking. The Fellowship gathered outside the gate, with Erestor and Gandalf up at the front, leading the way. The Company walked over the bridge and into the dark shadows of Mirkwood, leaving the Palace behind.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil felt none of the calmness or serenity he was showing as he watched his youngest leave. Hidden beneath a mask of indifference, his heart wailed in panic and his hands shook as Legolas vanished from sight. Beside him, Aglar's hands were clasped tightly in front of him, betraying his own fear, and Hannel was gripping Lachon's arm so tightly the Elvenking was surprised the ellon could still feel it. Even Barhad was twitching slightly, staring intently at the leaving Fellowship as if he were resisting the urge to sprint after them.

But only Thranduil noticed his children's despair and fear. They were Royals, and hid their emotions well while beneath the scrutiny of others. That did not mean that they did not have emotions. They did not want Legolas to go. They wanted to protect their youngest, to keep him where he could not be harmed after he had been out in the dangerous world alone for so long. But they could not.

Legolas was needed on this quest, and even when he returned he would still have to fight and kill the Void. The thought only made the Elvenking's silent suffering worse, but he could not give in to fear. He had to trust Legolas to be strong. He had to believe that he would come back to his family.

He had to believe that his youngest would survive.

Fifteen people were going on the quest to Rhun. Three of his other children were South searching for answers they would not find. Would all of them return? Would any? The thought burrowed itself deep into the blue-eyed elf's mind but he had to ignore it. He had to focus on leading his people, as he always had.

So before he turned to address Elrond and Galadriel to discuss their next move, Thranduil closed his eyes, and silently prayed to any greater power that would listen. _Please, let all of my children be safe. Please let them all come home._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Under the cover of darkness, Bereneth climbed lightly up a stony ridge. With the hood of her cloak up to limit the visibility of her elven glow in the night, the golden-haired Princess peered over the ridge's top, frowning at what she saw. In the distance, clear to her far-seeing eyes, were the dark, tall peaks of the Ash Mountains, the natural wall that surrounded Mordor. Not far to the South was the Black Gate, the entrance to the Dark land, which was not within her sight. Bereneth planned to keep it that way. She slid down the ridge, landing beside Megilag and Fael, who both looked at her expectantly.

"I spotted no foes within a few leagues," she reported. "It seems that the Void is still not interested in sending his forces through Rhovanion."

Her older brother cupped his chin with his hand, staring into the distance as he thought about this. "We've been lucky to run into no enemies as of yet, but I have a feeling that will not last much longer. We should head South-West rather than directly South from now on. It would be best to stay as far away from the Black Gate as possible."

The other two nodded and they continued on their way, keeping a wary eye out for any Dark forces that could hide among the nooks and crags around them. There were far too many shadows around for Bereneth's liking, and that was coming from an elleth that had lived in shadowy Mirkwood for centuries. She supposed it was better than being in an open field where there would be no place to hide, but for some reason this place was making her uncomfortable.

Or maybe it was just the thought of their mission that made her so tense. The golden-haired elleth looked up at the gloomy sky, gripping her sword hilt tightly as her thoughts ran in the same circles they had been ever since they found out Legolas was alive. Instead of being relieved or happy about the news, it angered Bereneth. And she did not know why.

Perhaps she was angry at the orcs for taking her brother and holding him captive for all of these years. Perhaps she was angry at her father for believing an orc when it claimed Legolas had been killed. Perhaps she was angry at herself for failing her youngest sibling.

Or maybe she was angry at him.

"Bereneth?"

She looked at Fael, who was glancing back at her with open concern in his bright green eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

"I'm perfectly fine." she told him, quickening her pace so she was behind Megilag, who was leading them now.

The silence while they walked was necessary but still unnerving. They did not want to go tramping along like a horde of rowdy dwarves in what was potential enemy territory, but Bereneth wished that the silence could be filled with something other than her own dark thoughts.

It was not long before her wish was granted.

"Did you hear that?" Fael asked suddenly, standing stock still with an arrow notched to his bow.

His siblings drew their own weapons, each scanning the seemingly empty rocks with wary eyes.

"What did you hear?" Megilag asked urgently, gaze still moving over their surroundings.

"Hissing." the green-eyed elf answered firmly. "It sounded like..." He stiffened, then spun, shooting at something behind and above Bereneth.

The arrow hit something, a loud, familiar screech sounding through the air. Bereneth sprang out of the way as a Spider fell down the rocks behind her, still shrieking. She ended its cries with a swift stab of her sword, then raised it defensively.

"What is a Spider doing here?"

"The Spiders were forced to flee out of Mirkwood..." Meglag reminded her slowly. Then he tensed. "I think I know where they went. Back to back!"

No sooner had his siblings obeyed him did more Spiders rise up from the ground, hidden by the rocks and crags around them.

_There must be tunnels underneath us!_ Bereneth thought. _This is their new nest!_

Luckily for the elves, the Spiders still seemed to be getting used to the new territory they had made their own. The creatures could did not have coverage or trees to hide in like in Mirkwood, so they charged the elves like a distorted stampede of horses.

Bereneth stabbed the first Spider in the head, slashing another across its bulbous eyes. Behind her, Fael was shooting arrow after arrow, carefully choosing targets so he could hopefully retrieve the weapons later. Megilag fought with his usual, rapid grace, quick, deadly stabs that slayed any monsters that got too close.

The golden-haired elleth swept her blade in a downward arc, beheading another giant arachnid, cutting off the legs of its kin. The Spider's shrieks were grating on the ears and she quickly ended its misery with a sharp stab through the back. A white substance shot out of the dark and she sidestepped the web, only to hear a yell behind her.

The webbing had caught Fael on his arm and he found himself grounded, dragged swiftly towards the Spider that menacingly stood on its back legs. Bereneth moved before she fully registered what was happening, slashing at the Spider as it tried to pin her brother beneath it. The Spider went down on all eight legs, one stabbing like a spear, and Fael screamed in pain as the sword-like appendage stabbed into his shoulder.

Bereneth saw red.

She roared, an odd mix between a scream and a snarl, and lunged for the Spider, sword swinging in wide, erratic arcs. She forgot that there were other Spiders. She forgot about her mission and Legolas. She even forgot about Megilag, who was still fighting behind her.

All she knew was fury, a dark, insatiable desire to spill blood raging through her like a torrent. The Spider had attacked her family. It had hurt her brother. It. Would. _Die_.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill_. A voice in her head chanted.

Her blade sank into the Spider's side, and she smiled in triumph as it screamed in pain.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill._

She yanked the blade free, quickly but painfully, then sliced through the creature's legs, severing all four on one side. She laughed as it fell over, its remaining legs twitching in agony.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill._

Bereneth kicked the Spider hard enough to send it slamming into a rock, then approached with slow, methodical steps, its blood dripping off her blade.

_Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill!_

Its eight eyes were filled with fear, an emotion such worthless creatures should not be capable of, as it looked up at her. She bared her teeth in a savage grin. It _should_ be afraid.

_**Kill!**_

She stabbed it. Once, twice, thrice. Her blade sank through hard exoskeleton like it was butter, again and again and again. The cold smile never left her face as the Spider stopped screaming and twitching, black blood flying about her like sticky spray. Even when the life faded from its eyes she did not cease, her sword hacking at the Spider's corpse with feral ferocity.

It deserved the pain she was causing it. It deserved its death. How dare this inferior creature harm her brother! It deserved agony. It deserved suffering. Nothing was too brutal for it—!

"—reneth, stop! Its dead! Stop, Bereneth!"

Megilag's voice reached the elleth through a haze. She blinked rapidly, the red fading from her vision, and returned to reality. It was silent, eerily silent, like the calm before a thunderclap. More like after a thunderclap this time. All of the Spiders were gone or slain. The Princess of Mirkwood breathed heavily, feeling as if she had just run for miles, and focused on the sight in front of her.

The Spider was most definitely dead. Without a doubt. The bodies of the Dark creatures never bothered her, but Bereneth was suddenly sick to her stomach at the sight of it. Not because of the corpse itself, but because of what she saw in its reflective eyes.

Bereneth saw herself.

Her face was still twisted into an expression of pure rage, her eyes cold and merciless. She did not look like a calm, serene, elf, but a feral creature that just so happened to be wearing an elf's skin. Her glow was still there, her visage still beautiful and bright, but her eyes were murderous. Dark.

Bereneth flinched and looked away from her reflection, eyes drifting to Fael, who was sitting on the ground with a hand to his shoulder. The wound was not as bad as she had feared, the Spider's leg not stabbing as deeply as it had seemed. Still, the wound needed to be treated.

The golden-haired elleth stepped forward, reaching out to her brother. "Are you all right?"

He twitched but allowed her to inspect his wound. Bereneth did not know what she would have done if he had shied away from her. "It's all right. The wound is not that bad."

"Says the fool that left a splinter in his hand so long it got infected." Megilag said lightly, kneeling beside Bereneth and taking a roll of bandages and some healing cream from his bag. "Let me put this on."

Fael looked decidedly away from his brother as he cleaned the wound, wincing slightly. His green eyes met Bereneth's filled with concern and... wariness. "Are _you_ all right?"

Her response was instantaneous. "Of course I am." she said huffily, and scowled.

But was she really? Bereneth was not certain that she could believe her own words. The rage, the savagery, the darkness in her eyes... they all reminded her of one thing. But it was impossible. It could not be. The magic that powered the Sanctuary was supposed to keep that from ever happening. However, the facts all burned and connected within the golden-haired elf's mind, breaking through her denial to haunt her every thought. It could not be true. She was just paranoid and on edge after the attack.

There was no way that Bereneth could be becoming a Shadowed Elf.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Riagán, self-proclaimed rightful heir to Blue Harbor, hacked at a training dummy— which happened to be an orc's corpse— set up inside the insidious Minas Morgul. He could feel the Darkness around him coating his skin and giving him strength, each focused, harsh slash and stab going deeper into the dummy than was possible for a normal man. But Riagán was no longer normal.

Ever since he had agreed to serve the Void, he had been growing exceptionally stronger, a new power and vigor in his limbs that had been absent for years. The man did not know what his 'deal with the demon' had done to him, nor did he care. Iãgaw could eat his soul if it resulted in Strider's head on a platter. But he would not need the demon when he came face to face with that Ranger.

Riagán was stronger and faster than ever, fueled by the Darkness that had settled in his veins, and he was itching to begin his hunt. The occasional death-battle with orcs to test and get used to his skills was no longer enough, and if Iãgaw did not let him loose soon, Riagán was going to head out on his own, consequences be damned. His companion was not helping with his dwindling patience either.

Riagán cut off the arm of the corpse with a viscous swipe, turning to glare at the Shadowed Elf behind him. "Stop blabbering on about your 'Lord' or you are going to end up like _him_."

Pitch black eyes focused on him, and Amulug responded in a reverent voice the man was starting to despise. "There is no need for such impatience. You must not question Our Lord's reasons, mortal. He has not sent us out to spread the chaos of his Dark ways because he has not yet found a mission to suit his greatest followers."

The man debated whether to get into yet another 'conversation' with the fanatical elf or not as he continued to practice. He exchanged his sword for his other favorite weapon: a long, barbed whip. While not the most common weapon in Middle-earth by a long shot, the man had enough experience under his belt to use the weapon efficiently in both melee battles and for other more malicious activities. He called over an orc, watching it approach with cautious, slow steps, before responding to Amulug.

"Your master had better find a mission for his 'greatest followers' soon. Personally I think he's just killing what he wants to when he wants to with the mindless slaves you call kin."

With a sharp crack his whip sang through the air, easily beheading the orc from twenty feet away. The man watched the body fall with disgust. "This one didn't even try to dodge." he muttered coldly. "Pathetic."

"I have been _enlightened_ by our Lord. I believe in his great plan to cleanse the world and bring back its true state." Amulug said softly, ignoring the death that had happened right in from of him. Then his black eyes narrowed. "Unlike a certain disbeliever."

"Was that _disdain_ I heard in your voice?" Riagán questioned with a sneer. "I did not know you were capable of such an emotion."

Amulug shot him a look of utter loathing. "Delorcion. I can see why my Lord has not chosen you to be one of his disciples..."

Riagán ignored the Shadowed Elf as he continued to ramble about his Lord's righteousness and how the chaos of the world would cease as it was brought to the peace of nothingness. He soon paid attention, however, when the Shadowed Elf dropped into a low bow, forehead on the ground.

"My Lord."

Iãgaw appeared out of the shadows, literally, the darkness stripping from his frame like ink falling from black paper. The demon looked exceptionally pleased today. Riagán idly wondered how many Iãgaw had killed in order to make him so happy. The man decided he did not care.

"Riagán. Amulug." The Void greeted with his usual wide smile.

"My Lord." the Shadowed Elf murmured again. Riagán just grunted.

"Do not be so unenthusiastic, Riagán." Iãgaw chided. "There is someone I want you both to finally meet..."

The shadows moved— not literally this time— and a figure stepped out of them, standing beside the demon. It was a man dressed completely in black, with a hood covering his head and a face-mask over his face, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his cowl. He was fairly tall, just shorter than Riagán, with the slightly muscular build of one who fought but spent time sneaking around.

_A knife in the dark,_ the man thought, though he did not know why.

"This is Provadok, and I must admit that I am impressed with him." Iãgaw said, patting the cloaked man's head like one would stroke an adored pet. "He is a mortal assassin, and was the first of my Shades to awaken. Not only that, but he is already fully functional."

There was no expression to be seen, all emotions covered by the black face-mask and cowl, and the man seemed unmoved by the demon's blatant invasion of his personal space. A sharp crack soon proved otherwise, and Iãgaw's retreated, shaking his hand in the air like one would in an attempt to ward off pain but with a smirk on his face. Amulug's expression twisted into one of absolute rage.

He leapt forward, sword raised. "How dare you—!"

"It is all right, Amulug." Iãgaw interrupted.

The Shadowed Elf instantly retreated, murmuring reverent apologies. Provadok had not even twitched. Riagán could not even tell if he had noticed the angry elf coming at him.

"That was rude, Provadok." the Void told the man. "If I had not been me, you would have broken my arm."

Provadok offered no apology or excuse, not even looking at the demon, but Iãgaw just laughed. Riagán could feel his eyebrows inching up his forehead despite himself. He had seen what happened to clumsy orcs that had bumped into the Void before. The demon had taken great pleasure in ripping them apart with his shadows. Iãgaw must truly be impressed with this 'Shade' to laugh after the man had touched him.

Riagán looked back at the Shade, and noticed the hood was facing his direction. Provadok stared at the man in silence, expression hidden by his cowl and face-mask. Riagán shifted beneath his unseen gaze, unsettled by the sheer intensity of it.

The man did not notice the small knife that fell into Provadok's palm. The assassin tipped his head slightly, considering his options with the dagger lying limply in his hand, ready to be thrown. Then his head straightened, the knife silently sheathed, all without Riagán seeing a thing.

The other man felt the gaze cease in intensity and scowled at Provadok. "So you managed to impress Iãgaw for waking up early. Consider me _not_ impressed."

Amulug hissed angrily, Iãgaw laughed, and Provadok just... stared. Riagán was slowly finding the scrutiny annoying.

"What, did I hurt your feelings?" No reaction. "Are you deaf?" Silence. "Are you even listening—?"

Provadok looked up. The cowl slipped back slightly, revealing his upper face, and Riagán found himself staring into the coldest hazel eyes he had ever seen. A chill went up his spine. Some found Riagán's own eyes scary, his need for vengeance showing like a gate to insanity, but Provadok's eyes were far more terrifying than his own could ever be.

They held _nothing_. No joy, no sadness, no anger, no grief, no need for vengeance. Looking into those emotionless hazel orbs, Riagán instantly knew that this was a man— a weapon— who could kill anyone without hesitation or the slightest bit of remorse. This man lived for killing, though he did not revel in it, as impartial and apathetic as a sword. He did not care who he was sent to slay. He would kill for his wielder until a new one found him, and if necessary he would stab that old master in the back. No loyalty, no emotions, no friends.

A weapon to his core.

"You are not the one I wish to kill." Provadok stated without emotion.

He reached up a hand, pulling the cowl back in place, and Riagán found that he could breathe again. Iãgaw clapped once, making Amulug and the man from Blue Harbor twitch.

"That was fun. Now that introductions are over... Provadok. How is my guest? Has he been singing?"

The assassin said nothing, merely shaking his head once.

Iãgaw sighed, almost sounding sad. "Oh well. I do not actually need him to tell me anything, but it was fun to see if he would break..." He looked at his two unaware followers, eyes glinting. "Would you like to meet our guest?"

"Of course, my Lord!" Amulug exclaimed, as eager as a child who wanted to impress his parent.

Riagán merely shrugged, though he was curious despite himself.

As they ascended up the dark staircase in Minas Morgul, Riagán heard murmuring sounds from within one of the rooms they passed. He stopped and turned his head, peering into the dark doorway. For a moment there was nothing. Then, he found himself staring into glowing silver-blue eyes. The man paused in the hall, stepping towards it, and the door immediately slammed in his face. His startled expression became a scowl, which only deepened when Iãgaw chuckled.

"Do not disturb my other Shades, Riagán. They are shy around strangers."

So Provadok was not the only Shade then. What _was_ a Shade? Riagán's pushed the thought out of his mind, deciding he did not care. As long as the 'Shades' did not kill Strider, they could do and be whatever they wanted.

They went to the topmost tower, Iãgaw opening the door and walking inside. "Hello, old friend. I brought some others to meet you..."

Riagán's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he blinked once in shock. Before him, hanging with spiked chains around his wings and feet, bloody, beaten, and separated from the sky, was an Eagle.

It looked nothing like the ones described in the stories he had heard long ago, however. Not anymore. Once beautiful plumage was bloody and covered with grime, chunks of feathers missing to expose abused, off-color skin. Large, dull eyes filled with angry fire as the great bird glared at the Void, beak firmly shut.

"Not to worry, my Lord Gwaihir. I am not intending to torture you anymore." The tone the demon used was far from soothing to anyone, sounding more like poisoned honey than anything.

Gwaihir opened his beak, emitting a terrible wheezing sound. Yet even without words, Riagán knew the Lord of the Eagles was cursing the Void. The demon seemed to be having the same thoughts.

"There's no need to be rude. I already _sincerely_ apologized for killing all of your kin." Iãgaw said with mock-shame. "I just could not control myself, I fear. All those delicious Lights to devour..."

Gwaihir glared, though his eyes were filled with a grief Riagán could not— and did not want to— understand.

"But I have wonderful news, my friend." Iãgaw continued. "Your time with us is over, because I do not need you anymore. While I was out searching for mortals to kill, my sight fell upon an odd little group of horse men in Rhovanion. They were talking about a meeting they had just attended. A very... _special_... meeting."

The demon's words held no meaning to Riagán, but the Eagle's large eyes widened the slightest bit.

Iãgaw did not seem to notice the Wind Lord's slight distress, continuing on. "One of them was upset that his cousin had joined up with a _Fellowship_. Do you know what that Fellowship is doing?"

The Void walked right up to the Eagle, and smiled with sharp, white teeth. "They are on their way to retrieve the Black Weapons, the only things that can destroy me."

Gwaihir flinched. Amulug looked concerned and ready to jump in front of a blade for his lord. Provadok showed none of his thoughts.

"Do not be so surprised," Iãgaw told the Eagle chidingly. "I have _always_ known about the Black Weapons. I have _always_ known that they can kill me. But if they are somehow buried beneath a thousand tons of rubble, no one would be wielding them any time soon, would they?" The Void sneered, baring his teeth in a cruel grin. "The Valar should have been less specific with their plan to _save Arda_."

He laughed mockingly, and the air grew heavier. Riagán gave a small pained gasp as the Darkness seemed to flux around him, hooking deep into his soul and pulling _hard_. It faded so quickly he did not know if it truly existed, but the sheer force of the pull was enough to send him and Amulug to their knees. Provadok alone seemed unaffected. Iãgaw ignored them all, eyes only for the shaking Wind Lord.

"I tried to look for the Fellowship this morning, but someone is blocking me. Irritating, it's true, but I know the path they are taking and you insects are so _slow_. But I am not concerned with them for now. I do not care that they are searching for the Weapons. I could send Amulug and Riagán to kill them if I wanted."

He frowned, considering that, then shrugged. "Perhaps I will. Perhaps not. I do not care, as long as I get what I need in order to ensure my victory. Which will be easy enough when I destroy the Weapons. You see, I know the Black Weapons exist. I know their purpose. I know they are in a temple, guarded by those annoying Blue Istari. The only information I need is the temple's location... And the Fellowship will lead me _right_ to it."

In the end, it did not take pain to break the Eagle. Riagán could see the hope leave the once proud Lord's eyes, his entire visage seeming to shrink so he was only a shadow of his former self. Despair, pure and potent, dulled his eyes to blank orbs, and Riagán realized why Iãgaw wanted to revel in the destruction of Middle-earth. It was the same reason he wanted to see that potent, _wonderful_ despair in Strider's eyes before he killed him.

"You may kill him now, Amulug." Iãgaw stated calmly, eyes bright with satisfaction.

The Shadowed Elf smiled and lunged, sword sweeping sideways in an almost gentle arc, and Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles, was dead.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations:**

**Provadok*: (Black Speech) Touch of Death. *not an exact translation. Was slightly shortened.**

**Tithen: little**

**Gwador: brother (sworn)**

**Delorcion: Bastard (more modern meaning, like "You jerk")**

**A/N: Yes, I just did that...**

**...I can't believe I just did that. Has anyone ever killed Gwaihir? **_**Ever?! **_**I honestly can't remember a fanfic where he was killed. He's so... invincible. I haven't broken an unspoken rule of LOTR fanfics right?! O_O I had to do it though. Because if I didn't, then why couldn't the Eagles fly the Fellowship to Rhun? A few other than Thiad may be hiding around somewhere, but they're gonna stay out of the war (and away from Iãgaw). **

**In case you didn't catch it, an Eagle has now been sent to find the missing Royals. Iãgaw cannot see the sky, so Thiad can hide from him while he tries to bring them home.**

**I'm sorry the Royal family goodbye wasn't longer or more detailed, but I just could not write it. It was making me sad. :'( I hope the section with Thranduil's inner thoughts makes up for it.**

**Thanks for all of the awesome favorites, follows, and reviews! Seriously, over 80 for one chapter?! Wow! :D**

**I will start doing individual responses to guest reviews again next chapter. Probably. :P**

**I'll update when I can. Thanks for being so patient. :)**

**Please review!**


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